


A Feast for a King

by seriaan



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16774888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriaan/pseuds/seriaan
Summary: Erik wouldn’t call himself self-conscious, really, but he still can’t help his small moment of tensing when he eases down his pants in front of T’Challa, baring the softness in between his legs, before laying back down on T’Challa’s exceedingly comfortable bed.





	A Feast for a King

Erik wouldn’t call himself self-conscious, really, but he still can’t help his small moment of tensing when he eases down his pants in front of T’Challa, baring the softness in between his legs, before laying back down on T’Challa’s exceedingly comfortable bed.

It’s not surprise that Erik’s expecting, because T’Challa already knows about Erik’s history. Erik had been blunt about it, wanting nothing to do with anyone who couldn’t accept him, and T’Challa had not just accepted him, but had done it with such a reassuring equanimity that Erik was left suspecting T’Challa had had lovers like Erik before.

Still, Erik can’t help his doubts and he waits to see any sign of displeasure or reluctance or seconds thoughts playing out on T’Challa’s face.

What he gets instead is a tiny, husky sound of honest desire and no hesitation as T’Challa looks Erik all over and says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Erik clears his throat. “Yeah?”

“I would never lie to you about this.” T’Challa’s hand is light on Erik’s thigh, thumb stroking. His eyes are sincere.

Erik lets all that tension in him go. These days, he’s doing a better job at believing T’Challa, so he reaches out and T’Challa comes to him easily and as they kiss, a familiar ache starts up in Erik, the same one that’s been starting in him sweetly sharp whenever his thoughts or his gaze lingers too long on T’Challa, not just on his full mouth but also his long, graceful fingers or the sculpted cut of his toned body.

The ache just grows as T’Challa draws his mouth away from Erik’s, mouthing down Erik’s throat, down his chest, down his stomach, leaving behind a buzzing trail of heat and little stings from the nipping of his teeth. He stops at Erik’s pelvis like he’s waiting for a signal, even though he must be able to see how wet Erik’s getting.

“You can,” Erik says. “You can go lower, if you want.”

“Of course I want to, more than anything. What do you want?”

“Wasn’t I being clear?”

“No,” T’Challa says with a playful smile. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Why?”

“So that I know for sure you’re not doing this because you think should or because of me.”

“I ain’t ever done anything I don’t wanna,” Erik says. “And what I want,” under T’Challa’s appreciative gaze, Erik spreads his legs some more, “is you down in here.” T’Challa’s eyes flick down, lingering. “Oh, you like seeing my pussy?” Erik says, low, nearly purring. He reaches down with his fingers, spreads himself open, lets T’Challa see how fucking good and soft and tempting Erik looks inside. “You like that?”

T’Challa licks his lips, clearly liking it all. Erik wants to ride his own hand so that he can see what T’Challa looks like then.

He’s considering doing just that, when T’Challa says, “Every time you get wet, I can smell it. Did you know that, N’Jadaka?”

“I didn’t,” Erik says lightly, steady voice giving no indication how _un_ steady T’Challa’s making him feel right now. "Makes sense, though. The herb." 

“Sometimes I notice you watching me when you think I’m not paying attention and I always smell it then.”

“And what does that do to you? Smelling how wet I get for you?”

“It makes my mouth water with wanting to taste you so much and all I can think about is getting down on my knees and burying my face in your cunt.”

T’Challa’s hoarse voice, hearing him talk about Erik’s cunt, him just saying that word -- Erik shuts his eyes. Presses his lips together. That ache again. He’s getting slicker, right there in front of T’Challa, who’s seeing it all, whose mouth, like he said, must be watering now, so Erik says, “What are you waiting for?”

“Look at me,” T’Challa says and Erik does just as T’Challa’s fingers stroke light over Erik’s damp folds and Erik pulls a hasty breath in.

“Oh,” he says, “Oh. That’s,” and swallows. He’s never heard himself make such a soft sound, not that he’s ever been particularly vocal during sex. The quick, fleeting fucks he's had before had been nothing special and he’d had no need or desire for exchanging words during them. After so many years of solely transient pleasure, he can’t help being so minimal and restrained in his response and maybe -- maybe he had been so quiet out of a need to not draw more attention to himself than necessary, leaving no room for conversation or comments about his body.

“Don’t hold back,” T’Challa says. “You don’t need to with me.”

“I’m not holding back. I’m just like this. You probably expected me to be louder, huh?” 

“I did,” T’Challa admits. “Perhaps I’ll make you want to be loud?”

“I hope you ain’t writing checks you can’t cash.”

T’Challa’s eyes crinkle with laughter. “Let’s see, shall we?” he says, and places a soft kiss on Erik’s mound before sliding a finger inside nice and easy because Erik’s still getting so wet so fast. Erik buries a tight noise at the back of his throat. “Beautiful,” T’Challa says, his hooded eyes watching his finger explore Erik’s cunt, how it's sucking him in. 

Erik’s face burns. It’s almost like he’s on display for T’Challa, lying here with his legs spread, but the way T’Challa’s looking at the most intimate part of him, as if Erik really is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, it makes Erik want to stay like that for as long as T’Challa wants.

One finger quickly becomes two fingers sinking into Erik, curling, deep and teasing in Erik’s tightness. Erik clamps down on them, tries to keep them trapped in his slippery heat, his thighs shaking and his throat making desperate little sounds.

“Be loud for me,” T’Challa says, his thumb brushing over Erik’s clit, delicate, then deliberate. T’Challa’s fingers rub Erik steadily, resolute in their insistent to drive Erik crazy, and when the heel of T’Challa’s hand grinds purposely against Erik’s clit, it happens so fast, it shocks Erik, the sheer readiness of his body, leaping to react for T’Challa. He’s coming already, moaning long and as loud just as T’Challa asked him to be, and still T’Challa’s fingers don’t stop working him, firm pressure against his clit, sending explosive sparks fizzing through Erik. “ _T’Challa_. Fuck, T’Challa.”

“What do you want?” T’Challa says gruffly. His eyes are dark. Hungry. “Right now, what do you want, N’Jadaka?”

Erik’s entire body is inundated with pleasure and yet also filled with longing, wanting to be satisfied some more, wound up with that need and wanting to be loosened again. “Your mouth,” he pants. He needs to finally find out how good T’Challa’s mouth would feel. If it matches up to his fantasies.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” T’Challa leans down, the scratch of his beard electric against the sensitivity of Erik’s skin. He still has his fingers hooked inside Erik, like he doesn’t want to leave.

Erik doesn’t -- can’t -- look away, because he doesn’t want to miss a second of this. He’s breathing deeper. Quicker.

T’Challa’s gaze flick up to meet his. “Say it again.”

“Eat me."

“Again. Don’t stop. Show me how much you want this.”

“Eat me,” Erik says. Demands. “Fucking eat me, T’Challa. I want your mouth on my pussy until your face is dripping from me--” Erik cuts off with a sharp cry as T’Challa’s fingers slide out of him but his tongue slides _in_ and Erik’s own moan is the dirtiest thing he’s ever heard.

T’Challa doesn’t waste time, eagerly licking between Erik’s folds, getting them slicker with his hungry tongue, taking Erik’s clit in his mouth with a light suck that ripples through Erik like a shockwave. He can hear himself getting louder, sounding more and more like he’s dying from the ecstasy of what T’Challa’s doing to him, every noise torn out of his core so shameless and needy and breathless, and all Erik can do is tilt his hips up into T’Challa’s mouth to sate his endless desire for more. 

Mercifully, cruelly, T’Challa pulls away, giving Erik a small break. Erik nearly yells, wanting to wrap his legs around T’Challa’s neck and trap him and his perfect paradise of a mouth against Erik’s cunt. T’Challa would probably let him, giving lover that he is and so greedy, too, chasing Erik’s taste the way he did, devouring it.

T’Challa’s still close enough to almost speak right up against Erik, saying, “I’ve been thinking about your taste so much,” the words almost having as much dizzying impact as his mouth did. “It’s better than anything I could have imagined.”

“That’s me, baby,” Erik murmurs, feeling dazed. “Always defying imagination.”

T’Challa laughs and drops a kiss on Erik’s wet thigh -- a sweet kind of kiss, considering the filthy skill he’s been displaying so far. Erik lifts a lazy hand and strokes over T’Challa’s curls, earning himself another sweet kiss, this time on his wrist.

“You gonna get back to work again or what?”

“Bossy,” T’Challa says. And then, “I’m not going to just get back to work, N’Jadaka.”

“No?”

“No.” T’Challa lowers his head, breathes hot against Erik’s sopping pussy. His hands spread Erik’s thighs, securely hold them apart with fingers sticky from Erik’s juices. “I’m going to destroy you.”

Erik doesn’t get the chance to respond, because T’Challa’s instantly making good on his word, his mouth beautifully vicious on Erik and his hands giving Erik no way to get away from the nearly violent onslaught of pleasure, fucking Erik relentlessly with his tongue, groaning into Erik as he sucks Erik’s clit, and Erik arches as much as he can, head tipping back against the bed, hands fisting, twisting sheets in his clutch, before clutching at the back of T’Challa’s head, trying to press T’Challa’s face deeper into him. “Fu-- mmm, yeah, eat me, eat my pussy like you ain’t gonna find better, fuck, eat me, eat me, eat me.” Writhing unashamedly, gasping raggedly, toes curling, and fuck, he might just be a minute away from begging, from crying, it’s so intense, so damn good, Erik won’t be able to survive without this, he’s gonna spend every night spreading himself open for T’Challa’s mouth to make a complete mess of him.

T’Challa groans something, his hands creeping up to Erik’s hips, holding him down, and if Erik could think properly, he might’ve wondered about where T’Challa’s learned to be so talented at this and he might’ve felt a hot burst of jealousy and an even deeper satisfaction at being the only one who’ll get to enjoy this now.

“Gonna cream all over your gorgeous as fuck mouth,” Erik says, but that only makes T’Challa suck at him faster and Erik’s bucking up, bucking up, bucking up, on the verge of coming. It’s the abrupt and devastating slide of T’Challa’s fingers moving back inside Erik that throws Erik over the edge, leaving him seized tight by an overwhelming orgasm; he moans, melting in T’Challa’s mouth, spilling everything in him on T’Challa’s lapping tongue.

T’Challa eases his hold on Erik’s hips and Erik takes the chance to grind up weakly against T’Challa’s fierce mouth, even though he’s shaking now, barely able to breathe, sinking under the sensations.

“Come -- come u-up here,” he says breathlessly, trying to pull T’Challa up from his throbbing cunt, his drenched thighs, smashing his lips against T’Challa’s slick, soft ones.

T’Challa slides his tongue into Erik’s mouth with the same smoothness he’d slid it into Erik’s pussy, and he kisses Erik with the same ferocity he’d eaten Erik out with. Erik groans at the taste of himself and thinks he should’ve done this sooner, let T’Challa carry the taste of Erik’s pussy on his mouth from the beginning, from that evening in the garden when T’Challa had first kissed him. 

“You looked so perfect,” T’Challa says heatedly, “falling apart under my mouth. I want to do that for you every day.” 

The thought alone of T’Challa between his legs all the time threatens to make Erik come again. “Fuck, baby, you tryna kill me?” He fumbles in between them to push T’Challa’s pants down, get his hand on T’Challa’s sweet dick, and he gets even less coordinated with T’Challa slipping his hand against Erik’s pussy, not sliding fingers in, just cupping Erik possessively.

“That doesn’t sound like a real complaint,” T’Challa says, strained, pushing into Erik’s touch.

“Ain’t nowhere near stupid enough to complain, shit. You can shove that dick into me next time. Blow my back out, fucking ruin my walls--” and fuck, Erik’s already buzzing again from wanting it so much, imagining it: T’Challa’s dick sliding across his folds, playing with him, then fucking in, thick, the thickest thing Erik’s ever had in him, parting all his tightness wide open and filling him with come that’ll leave Erik’s pussy obscenely messy afterwards.

“Yes,” T’Challa hisses, “and then I’ll put my tongue inside you again, see what we taste like together, N’Jadaka, and maybe you’ll even scream for me.”

“I don’t scream for anybody.”

“I like a good challenge.”

Erik twists his hand, rough at T’Challa’s wet cockhead; T’Challa swears, makes a half-bitten off sound, comes with a groan he can’t hold back, painting Erik’s chest and stomach. Erik keeps stroking him through it. Holds him close, shakes with him. They kiss clumsily, but it’s still good. Everything is, it seems, with T’Challa. Always good and always getting better. 

T’Challa stays close while he recovers, unsurprisingly quicker. Erik’s still catching his breath, swallowing down a whine when T’Challa’s hand comes up from between Erik’s legs and just rests on his chest.

He has the decency to at least wait until Erik’s calmer to ask, “Did you enjoy yourself?” with a smile that says he already knows the answer.

“Nah, not one bit,” Erik says, a lie exposed by the pulsing in his cunt. He’s not shivering anymore, but it somehow feels like he is. He wipes the hand stained with T’Challa’s come along T’Challa’s chest. “You get zero stars and no recommendations.”

“Just to be clear, you’re saying you don’t want me to do that again?”

“I ain’t say that. Who said that? Not me. If you don’t do that again, I’ll hunt you down and make you. Smother you with my thighs.”

“Such a pretty, pretty threat. I’ll do my best to make you carry it out.”

Erik rolls his eyes, but a chuckle rebelliously slips loose. T’Challa nudges his forehead against Erik’s temple and nuzzles affectionately at Erik’s cheek. “Don’t,” Erik says, laughing, “don’t act like you so sweet after you just ate me out like a fucking monster.”

“You have to accept all sides of me, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa says breezily.

Erik considers what he could say about acceptance. That it took him coming to Wakanda, living for a time in the uniqueness of their society, to finally find it. That maybe this thing where T’Challa’s his enemy-turned-friend-turned-something-more is probably one of the weirdest, but best twists in his life. He decides to save all that for another day where he won’t be literally naked the same time he’s figuratively baring himself.

“I have accepted you,” he says, stroking a finger over T’Challa’s beard, feeling the soft prickliness. All the dampness from being soaked by Erik’s juices. “Drenched you with my acceptance,” Erik says smugly.

“You should do it again,” T’Challa says.

Erik wants to. He wants to keep going until he passes out. T’Challa’s got the herb and he's already getting hard again. He can last for so long and fuck Erik every way it’s possible to fuck him. “How many times you think you can make me come?”

“Many times.”

Erik wants to push him away or snap out something smart for his arrogance, but T’Challa’s confidence and the pleasure that he’s so assured he can deliver is getting Erik wet, ready, aching, always fucking aching for T'Challa. 

“Go on, then,” Erik says, although he already believes T'Challa. “Prove it.”

Intent sharpens the gleam in T'Challa's eyes. “I’m going to have you drenched all over my cock, N’Jadaka,” he says, and Erik groans low in his throat as T’Challa dips his head, slides two fingers into Erik’s hot pussy, spreading them so he can lick in between and start working Erik apart once more. 


End file.
